


Turning, Again, to Being

by setissma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setissma/pseuds/setissma
Summary: Post-quidditch shower sex.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt/to accompany some comic art by djinniyah.
> 
> Obviously, this is somewhat, er, divergent, timeline wise, since Draco being a prefect and Harry playing Quidditch are a tad incompatible.
> 
> If you think two teenagers of the same age having oral sex in sixth or seventh year makes something underage and would prefer not to read it, this is not the fic for you!

Inevitably, Draco Malfoy ended up hard after Quidditch matches.

It was almost unavoidable, really – the endorphins were there even if you lost, which was also a little inevitable when playing against Harry Potter, Best Quidditch Player In A Half A Century. No one noticed, half the time – Montague tended to slip off to find a girl to fool around with beneath the stands, and Zabini sometimes took care of it in front of everyone, so merely having an erection was, all things considered, rather unremarkable. 

Usually, though, Draco waited to shower. If he helped wrestle the bludgers back in and took his time putting his broom away, he was almost guaranteed an empty locker room and more than a little privacy.

It was just past the second week in October, and already cold as hell – Draco peeled off three layers of clothing, leaving his soaking wet jumper across a bench, and spelled one of the showers on, full heat and the extra jets. He’d gotten hit by a bludger across the side, and bruises were already coming up, but worse, he was cold. He stepped into the shower, a little tentatively, but the water felt good, gradually warming until steam was pouring off the cold tile, and off of him.

It took all of two minutes after he got warm for the endorphin rush to kick in, leaving all his muscles loose, his entire body practically boneless. Draco rolled his shoulders, wary of his ribs, and then let his head fall forward, water pounding directly against the small of his back. He was already half hard and warm all over, and it only took two strokes to get him all the way there. He leaned back against the wall, settling in, then swore, suddenly and fluently, when the water pressure died, then went off.

_Gryffindors_. Completely incapable of merely saving a victory, they had to rub it in – it had been probably been Weasley, playing pranks with the pipes, but in the grand scheme of things, they’d definitely be worse off: Draco had every intention of finishing what he’d started, and he wasn’t about to stay in the freezing cold, waterless Slytherin locker room.

He found a towel and padded down the hallway, murmuring a password to get through a rather enormous slab of stone – one of the benefits of being a prefect was the list of passwords he received once a week via owl – but there wasn’t any water running in the Gryffindor side, either, just steam. Draco stepped into a stall to try the water, just in case everyone was merely gone, but froze when he heard a soft, low noise.

He’d thought, originally, that it was just someone in the shower next door, but when he reached for his towel, hanging just outside, he heard a soft gasp followed by a low moan – obvious why no one had heard _him_ come in, then. Draco was struck with a very sudden desire to get out of there – this wasn’t the sort of thing, really, that you were supposed to be listening in on. It was part of the unspoken rule that every boy sharing a dormitory knew – you didn’t listen and if you heard anything, you ignored it.

The problem was, really, that Draco was having distinct difficultly with the second part of the equation. He was getting hard again despite the cold, and the soft, breathless noises from next door really weren’t helping. Even the thought that it might be Weasley didn’t do anything – it was still someone else, someone _male_ a few meters over, getting off, and after a moment, Draco gave in to curiosity.

He slid to his knees, careful not to make any noise, and leaned around the edge of the partition, glancing through the lingering steam, then blinked, twice, rapidly.

_Fuck_.

Broad, tanned shoulders, the slow, distinct curve of a spine, and a mess of damp, black hair – Harry Potter, with a hand wrapped around his cock and two fingers pushed inside himself, a practice that Draco had come to realize most straight boys avoided at all costs.

Well. That was _one_ explanation for why Potter might be getting off somewhere other than the privacy of his own bed.

_Probably_ , Draco hazarded, Harry wasn’t even terribly sure about it – it wasn’t as if, after all, The Boy Who Lived could casually offer to meet Blaise Zabini in Hogsmeade. Potter was so high _strung_ half the time, and god knew, Chang hadn’t been the sort of girl that put out. It would be easy enough to slip over, and Draco could imagine the look on Potter’s face if he offered casually, leaning against the tile – gratitude mixed with lust, and really, it probably wouldn’t take _much_ -

Draco slid a hand down before he could really think about it, keeping his breathing even. He fell into Potter’s rhythm, slow and building, and had to ease off a moment later, sliding out of his fantasy to keep from coming too fast. There was a speck floating in front of him, and Draco blinked the steam away to get a better look, then promptly fell over backward with a muffled yell when he realized what it was – a spider, and _two inches_ from his face.

In retrospect, he figured he _might_ have been a bit quieter about it, because Potter went dead silent. In the three seconds Draco had to consider escape routes, Potter had leaned around and was staring, cheeks bright red.

“ _Malfoy_?” he said, voice going high, and Draco felt himself flush all over as he slid back up onto to his knees.

“Obviously, Potter,” Draco said. “Who _else_ would it be?”

Potter kept staring, but he went even redder – and, Draco noticed, he was definitely still hard.

“Malfoy?” Potter repeated, still watching him.

“Shut up, Harry,” Draco murmured, cheeks still warm, and reached a decision, sliding a hand out to pull Potter around, closing the gap between them.

“What - ” Harry managed, then yelped as Draco leaned in to nuzzle across his stomach.

“Shut _up_ ,” he repeated, then dragged his tongue across Harry’s hip.

“Oh,” Potter said, which wasn’t exactly shutting up but wasn’t really saying anything either, and Draco waited a moment, but Harry didn’t try to move away. Draco leaned forward and slid his mouth down over the head of his erection, almost lazy, glancing up to meet Harry’s eyes, and _that_ was what he’d been fantasizing about, because Potter wore his emotions on his face, and the look there was worth all the indignity of being on his knees in a changing room shower – startled and uncertain and _utterly_ turned on.

He leaned in a little closer, with a soft noise in the back of his throat that made Potter jump, and pressed him back against the wall so he could go a little deeper before glancing up again at Harry, his head thrown back against the wall. He was still stealing glances down, though, as if he wasn’t quite sure this was actually happening. Draco stroked a thumb across his hip, a casual sort of apology for spying, and Potter made a soft, choking noise and came, unsure hands finally settling on Draco’s shoulders.

Draco swallowed, careful, and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, suddenly unable to look up, flushed and more than a little turned on.

“I, uh,” he said, because formulating complete sentences after going down on Harry Potter probably wasn’t a priority.

Draco got to his feet, a little awkwardly, and honestly, Potter was still staring at him, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of things.

“I should - ” Draco began, almost reaching for a towel, but Potter reached out and grabbed his wrist, hard.

“Hey,” Harry said, voice low and rough with sex, and held on. “Stay.”

Draco met his eyes, finally, and Harry managed a smile, not letting go. “Is this how you usually meet people, Malfoy?”

The water came back on behind him, sputtering then warm, and the shower started to steam up again. “Possibly,” Draco said, then, giving in to the inevitable, knowing his face was probably an appalling shade of pink. “But not really.”

“Oh,” Potter said, always eloquent, then smiled again. “Well.”

“Right,” Draco said, aware of Potter’s fingers pressed against his wrist, and how fast his pulse was racing.

Then Harry pulled him in, hard, and slid a hand to his hip, keeping him close. “Right,” he agreed, and kissed him, warm and open-mouthed, fingers still curled against the inside of his arm. Draco slid a hand up to wrap around the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him down to deepen it, and Potter followed, licking into Draco’s mouth, sweet and slow, until Draco was almost begging for it.

“You’re still half dressed,” Draco managed, against his mouth, when he thought it might be possible to breathe again.

“You’re still hard,” Harry pointed out, laughing close, and turned up the water to drown out the noise before pulling him in for another kiss.


End file.
